


Bite

by Maggie_Conagher



Series: Newlywed Blues [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dentistry, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-15 04:16:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2215470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maggie_Conagher/pseuds/Maggie_Conagher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg comforts Mycroft after a trip to the dentist. An ordinary day set somewhere in their world between assorted tragedies. </p>
<p>Word count: c. 1234</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bite

Greg came in the kitchen door at the end of the day and noted the absence of Morris and dinner preparations, but the smells of cooking lingered and the oven was warm. My had not returned texts and at first Greg had thought how the dentist did not allow mobile use during procedures. But as the day wore on and more texts were ignored and then even the nagging voice mail, a bit whiny, Greg became worried.

He had finished his own work nevertheless, and now he walked through to the front stairs where lamps were on the empty house setting. He found My on the first floor landing, back against the banister. The light there had been switched off, and he had only the lights from downstairs and the grey from the sky light to go by. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“Having a rest before I go up.”

Greg knelt on the step below, willing his fear of heights at bay as the open banister loomed above empty space. “Must have been rough sledding to have a procedure all morning and then meetings in the afternoon. Did you get any rest at lunch?”

“The meetings weren’t on. My appointment ran long.”

“What the hell? All afternoon?”

“Eight and a half hours. I’ve just come in.”

“Oh, love. I am so sorry.” Greg reached out but stopped when My curled in on himself. “You’re in pain.”

“Still numb. Twisted up like a stroke victim.”

“Let’s get you tucked under the duvet, My. Put that fucking butcher behind you.”

“I need to sit here for a minute.”

“Of course.” Bloody fucking hell. An entire day of torture. Eight hours for a root canal. Too hurt and exhausted to make it up the stairs. Greg waited, marinating in his own helplessness. He wished he could pick My up and carry him to bed.

“It’s the damnedest thing. The throbbing is out of sync with the tick of my pocket watch and that’s what felled me. I can’t bear the syncopation.”

“Throbbing is pain, love. Stay put and I’ll get you something.”

“They said paracetamol.”

Greg scoffed. “The hell they did. I think we can do better than that.”

He stood up and carefully stepped around My’s legs to get to the next flight. Knowing he was doing too much, he nevertheless loaded himself down with quilt, water bottle, three types of pills for My to choose from, a cushion, and a flannel.

My sighed as the quilt covered him. He pointed to the medium weight pain killer from his last round of field work when he’d been pounded, broken, and stitched beyond all reason. Greg wanted to argue for the heaviest stuff, but feared camping out on the landing with a heavily sedated husband inches from a perilous tumble.

Once My had swallowed water and pills without spilling a drop, he sipped at the water until the bottle was empty. “Quite thirsty. I hadn’t had but a cup all day.”

“So they torture you and dehydrate you. Fucking pricks. I will burn their office to the ground and salt the earth and then piss over it.”

“Don’t make me laugh, love. Not now.”

“I’m not joking. Take a hammer and chisel to their jaw for eight hours and see the lay of the land after that.”

In his vehemence, he had come to close to the edge and a little pitch forward had him grasping at the post. Eyes closed against the vertigo, he felt My roll towards him. They both crawled over to rest their backs against the wall of the landing near the little table where a lamp and fern rested. Winter moonlight, cold and bleak shone down on them from the high window.

My put the cushion on Greg’s lap. “May I?”

He snuggled into the cushion, folding his legs up as Greg spread the quilt over him once more. “I should have some relief in about twenty minutes and then we shall finish the climb.”

Greg was still worried at how weary My was. Dental procedures could go wrong and cause health crises. But it was the end of a long day; he was warm and dry and his back rested against a wall with a solid staircase on his left. His husband was near. He put a hand on My’s shoulder to reassure himself.

“You can pet me if you like.”

The grandfather clock in the foyer chimed seven, My giving a flinch with each vibration as if it had reverberated up the stairs and through his dying tooth. Greg was terrified to touch him until My reached up and put Greg’s hand on his head. Greg stroked through auburn curls, focusing on the little waves above My’s collar. He let his mind go blank as his hand moved over and over, feeling tight muscles go slack.

At the quarter hour chime, My struggled up and they took the stairs together like two old men. It was a thousand mile climb and My sunk down on the bed at the end of it, grey with exhaustion and shivering.

“Let me do all the work, baby.” Greg got pyjamas first and then a piping hot flannel. He wiped My’s face and hands and the back of his neck. Then he undressed him as he would a child, putting the warm fleece top over My’s head before unbuttoning his waistcoat and shirt. He put a blanket over his lap before removing shoes and wrinkled trousers. My sighed as his legs were encased in soft fabric.

He whimpered as Greg got him under the covers and eased him back against pillows propped up so he didn’t have too far to fall back. “Too early?”

“No, love, not with the day you’ve had, but shouldn’t I feed you?”

“Can’t. I’m sorry. You should eat.”

“I’m not hungry.” Greg didn’t want to say that he was nauseated at how the world could harm his husband so. The shock of it was sharp and took his breath and appetite.

“Now that you’re warm under the covers, do you think the ice pack would help?”

“Maybe.”

When Greg returned and pressed the gel pack wrapped in a damp flannel to My’s swollen jaw, he saw tear tracks in the pale skin, streaking what was left of the lightly applied make up that covered My’s freckles. He couldn’t touch My’s face when the pain was visible even after zoo strength pain killers. My brushed the tears away himself.

“I’m so sorry, love. You can’t imagine how sorry I am.” Tears welled up in Greg’s eyes and fell when he blinked them away.

“Not pain. Happy tears.”

“What?” Greg chalked it up to euphoria.

“I used to come home from the dentist alone and sleep in an empty bed. Nobody knew or cared that I hurt.”

“Well, someone cares very much now.”

Greg bent very cautiously to kiss My’s forehead. He appeared to have drifted off that quickly. When he’d cleaned his teeth, his own fear of the dentist prompting him to some flossing as well, he put on his pyjamas and crawled gingerly under the duvet. My rolled over immediately and nuzzled against Greg’s shoulder and the soft cotton of his T shirt.

“All that lonely time, all I wanted was a place to lay my head.” 

Greg kissed the top of that pointy head where the hair was thinnest. “My shoulder was made for you, love.”

**Author's Note:**

> Ghislaine has been experimenting with some shorter fics as a holiday from her epic and wondrous work The Omega Sutra so I decided to see what it might be like to write, finish, and publish something in one day vs. the giant weight of super size NB chapters. 
> 
> My own experience yesterday of 4.5 hrs in the dentist chair yesterday and the incessant throbbing today also inspired this work. There isn't much dentistry hurt/comfort so like the Little Red Hen, yet again I must do it myself. 
> 
> You should check out G's domestic fic from the Mystrade Summer Gift Exchange, "Many Hands Make Light Work." And there is promise that when the many hands have lightened the work, there will be some other hand action in a claw foot tub.


End file.
